The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-11-12

seeing the look of utter misery on her
husbands face, che bravely steadied her
voice.
at will be better for him, husband, to
have father who is sorry for wrong do
ing, and tries to undo it, than to have all
that this country can give him" And then,
woman like, she wept harder than before.
On the 22d of December, the Penlittles,
father, mother, and boy, we're on the
Vera Cruz and Mexican railroad, ap-
preaching the city of Mexico. 1t was
hard for them to realize that it was Christ
mas time, when, instead OF ice and snow
and bitter wind, they were riding with
the windows open, and snuffing in min
gled delight Of jasmine, roses and myr-
tie.
The city rose before them, countless
towers and domes and steeples rejecting
the bright sun rays; the numerous public
squares, supplied with trees and brilliant
flowers; the wide, straight, paved streets,
the strongly builtstone houses, gaily dec
Grated on the outside, all made up a mag
nifcence which was quite unexpected to
our travellers. But they had no eyes nor
thoughts now for landscape or architect
ure. They were exiles, and the pain and
homesickness which Msrie's strong will
was keeping resolutely down, was told in
NJ hnc "a
face and figure. Only the child's enthu-
aiasm and gayety were overlooking.
A little westward from the great square
on which the cathedral stands, our travel
ers found rooms in an old palace that had
long ago been given up to this purpose
And from this base Mr.. Penlittle set out
on the morning of the Odd to find Arthur
Mowbray. After following with all the
energy he possessed land all that Marie
could inject into HIM, the clues by which
he vaguely hoped. and consciously dread
ed to find his friend, he came back to the
dingy old palace, depressed and cross.
"We've done fool thing, Marie; it was
like two children to run off here and ex-
pect to find Mowbray on the street. 1
haven't found him, of course"
81 have found him, Frank" said the
wife, and then he saw that che was look
ing very pale.
In one of the rooms of the very house
where they b ad taken apartments, Arthur
Mowbray lay tossing with fever. He did
not know his friends when they sought
him out; he was not conscious of all the
little womsnly Offices Marie was ready
with, day and night; he never knew-on
earth, that he was to have again his name
and place among his old friends As he had
planned his life, SO he spent it to the end,
giving it up cheerfully, unwaveringly for
his friend, not claiming the martyrs
crown, which was, after all, laid upon his
flower wreathed coffin. For before the
mahogany casket, with its clumsy, foreign
device, reached the city of his birth, all
the world-his world, knew the story of
ed him to that last station of the long
journey wept aloud, not so much for grief
as for pride and love, and hero worship.
Mr.. Penlittle's friend, his brief life
over, still lived in spirit, to bless men
with an example Of love and courage and
devotion. The other martyr lived on,
and no one knew or realized not even
her husband, no, certainly not Frank
Penlittle. that loves idol being shattered,
home and friends relinquished, motherly
pride wounded, and ambition dead, Ma
rie's cheerful, patient, loving, hope inspir-
ing life was drawer heroism even than
his, over whom she caused to be engrav-
ed the sacred legend:
"Greater love hath no man than this,
that man lay down his life for his
friends. Interior.